Alcohol's Effect On Friendship
by Akumokagetsu
Summary: When Twilight gets drunk, she does what any rational pony would do. She locks herself in a little room, and writes expressive letters to all of her friends. Much to everyone's not-surprise, Twilight's drunken letters tend to be drastically more blunt than usual. (Rated for language and potentially fatal hilarity.)
1. Chapter 1: Dearest Rarity

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Rarity unrolled the letter with a bit of surprise, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. It wasn't often that she received letters from Twilight, and if it was important enough for her to convince Spike to send it in the middle of the night, it must have been important.

Clambering with a yawn out of bed, Rarity shook her bedhead mane from her eyes as she picked up the hastily rolled scroll. Twilight must have had a good reason for waking her up in the middle of the night.

At least, she first thought so. However, as Rarity read the letter that had been magically carried by a whisk of green flame through her bedroom window, her mouth slowly drooped open wider and wider.

For almost an entire minute, Rarity simply stared at the letter in shock and horror, her heartbeat pounding in her throat. A final thorough read of the letter revealed that, unfortunately, she had not misread it.

_Dearest Rarity,_ Go fuck yourself.

Seriously, you stupid bitch. I, along with everypony else in this plot-backwards hick town, are all sick of your shit.

I cannot stand being around you. You are always just SO fucking prissy, and quite frankly, it's just a little pathetic. We are all sick of listening to you whine and moan about how you're always victimized, and that is some straight up minotaur shit. You get cheap, oftentimes FREE labor; hell, sometimes from my own fucking assistant.

Just so you know, it's not that Spike helps you because you're smart enough to be successfully manipulative, even though you're manipulative enough as it is. He just has this raging dragon boner for your flank. We (as in Spike and I, not you, you lazy fucking bitch) can both agree that you are an enormous cock tease.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I don't mean that. Don't… don't write that, Spike.

Start with… dearest Rarity. You try to be a really good friend, even though you are absolutely shit at it.

Goddammit, don't write that either, Spike.

Dearest Rarity, I'm getting wet just thinking about you. You make my horn hard. Seriously, I cannot stand to be around you for longer than five minutes, but oh my Celestia do I want to fuck you.

Every time I think about you, I just want to tackle you to the floor make you squeal while I spank your pearly white flank. You would moan in pleasure while I wrapped my tongue around your horn, and then we'd rut on the rug in front of the fireplace like a couple of wild animals.

Shit, Spike? Don't write that, start over. Yes, again.

Dearest Rarity,

You are so goddamned annoying. And I thought the 'pink menace' was hard to be around. I literally cannot stand to be around you, because you just never stop bitching, you fucking drama queen. Anypony that can fucking gripe and whinge all the time is just disgusting, and you make even more money than I do.

And I'm the motherfucking student of the PRINCESS.

All you ever do is strut around like you are fucking royalty, and believe me; I KNOW royalty. You are definitely not it. Always prancing around like you're lighter than air, watching those porcelain hips sashaying back and forth like a perfectly sculpted albino peach. God, now I want to rail you again.

Shit. Spike, don't write that.

Oh, Tartarus. I am so pissed off right now.

Let's try, 'Dearest Rarity,'

All you ever do is waste your fucking time. You are scamming absolutely everypony in the community, and they're all fucking gullible enough to buy shit they don't even need. Seriously, do you know how many fucking ponies wear clothes? Not a lot, bitch. Not. A. Lot.

You can't even claim that anypony would need clothes for winter, because that shit lasts, like, what – one motherfucking day?

You're frivolous, you are way too stuck up, and you think you're better than Celestia. I cannot stand you, you arrogant, sniveling obsessive compulsive bitch. God, you make me so angry that I just want to punch your ugly fucking sister in the face.

Don't give me that look, Spike. We know who does Sweetie Belle's hair, and she looks like a fucking tramp.

I cannot believe that you would demolish your own sister's mane like that; probably to make yourself look better in comparison, you jealous cunt wipe. Is that your plan? Is it? Make yourself look better in comparison to everypony else?

That is a putrid thing to do, waving around your perfect, sparkling violet mane. Making ponies horny as fuck when you get it wet, and then tottering about on those dainty little hooficured hooves of yours. That absolutely perfectionist way you walk, with your gorgeous tail tucked teasingly between your plot so temptingly calling out to me to swat your flank that it makes me drool.

The way I could make your slutty sparkling mane go frizzy when I plow into you from behind, taking you right on top of my writing desk. I would make you slaver and drip with as much desire as I burn with, making you beg for it before rutting you so hard you would think my mother was a jackhammer. I would bend you over in my hooves as I gripped your horn, and make you feel what it's like to REALLY be made into a little bitch. I forgot what I was angry about.

Shit, Spike? Don't write that.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Wow, this shit is STRONG. This is the last time I get anything from Granny Smith.

That reminds me, Spike? Get another letter ready. -Note From Spike- Oh, cripes. Rarity, I am so, so sorry about this. Twilight's a little pushy when she's drunk, and WOW is she wasted. Anyways, I think she wants me to send letters to just about everypony else, so it's probably only going to get worse from here on out. If you guys would send somepony over that can… I don't know, pump her stomach, maybe? That moonshine really hit her hard.

Rarity dropped the letter on the floor and fainted rather dramatically on the spot.

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	2. Chapter 2: Dearest Applejack

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The thumping on the door woke Applejack first.

She blearily stuck her head out from beneath her pillow, groaning. The sun wasn't even up yet.

"Whud'zit?" Applejack inquired tiredly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Applebloom wasted no time in shoving the door open, only to reveal that the filly held a small, unrolled letter.

"Darlin', do you know what time it is?" Applejack groaned, sitting up in bed.

"I, uh…" Applebloom said tentatively, looking back and forth between her sister and the letter. "I… I think somepony sent me this by mistake."

"Huh? This time o' night?"

"It-it has your name." Had Applejack been paying attention, she'd have noticed that her sister seemed to have a rather unpleasant pallor about her. Hooves trembling slightly, Applebloom dropped the letter onto Applejack's lap and darted out the door.

Confused, she picked up the already opened letter and began to read.

She sincerely wished she hadn't.

_Dearest Applejack,_

_I fucked your grandmother._

Applejack dropped the letter.

Lighting up a candle and dragging herself down the stairs, she stumbled to the kitchen and washed her face in the sink, making absolutely certain that she was fully awake. Then, sitting down carefully at the kitchen table, Applejack continued to read.

_I know, you've probably got that stupid fucking look on your face right now. You probably have no idea what I'm talking about, because you look like you've never heard of a mirror. I wish I could show you just how stupid you look._ _Here, let me help you._ _… Shit, she can't see my face. Don't write that, Spike._

_Yes, we're still doing this! I don't CARE if your arms are tired, keep writing!_

_… NO, not THAT part!_

_Dearest Applejack,_

_You filthy fucking heathen._

_All the time, I have to put up with your shit. And I do mean that literally, by the way. God, you always stink like manure. Seriously, do you ever even bathe? If you do, try it some more. The last time you walked into the library, I almost fucking gagged._

_But right now, it's… a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk, and I need you. Now._

_Spike, I swear to god, if you don't stop humming that, I'm going to hit you._

_Where was I?_

_Right, right. Fucking your grandmother for free booze._

_Hang on. Shit._

_Don't write that, Spike._

_Dearest Applejack,_

_Don't treat me like I'm stupid. If you're going to behave condescendingly, have the decency to grow a motherfucking brainstem first._ _You know what I'm talking about._

_You actually expect me, let alone anypony else in this hick-town, to believe that Applebloom is your 'sister'?_

_Bullshit! Like your parents JUST SO HAPPENED to be conveniently out of the picture. I know what you and your fucking beast of a brother have been up to. Been REAL busy sewing Apple seeds, huh?_

_Don't lie to me! We all know Applebloom is the 'slow' Crusader for a reason!_

_… Shit, that sounds bad. Don't write that, Spike._

_Dearest Shitface._

_Goddammit. Applejack. Yeah, whatever, Spike._

_Stop hogging your brother all to yourself._

_I have done absolutely everything in my power to wrangle that hunk of pony flesh, and I can't catch his eye because your fat fucking plot is in the way!_

_I even tried to go through his GRANDMOTHER to get to him, and he still won't fucking pay attention!_

_You think that 'love potion' shit was an accident?_ _Oh-ho-ho, yeah, Spike. I know about that, don't tell me that fucktard Applebloom doesn't have a big mouth, and I don't have… have… big… ears._

_Shit, I'm drunk._

_Spike? Start over._

_YES, again!_

_Dearest Applebloom._

_Jack. Applejack._ _Dearest Applejack._

_… Jack. Jack. Jack jackity jack. Gotta get back, back to the past, watchout Jack._

_Sweet Celestia, I'm so fucking funny right now._ _Shut up, Spike._

_Dearest Applejack,_

_Just stop fucking talking._

_Seriously, that's all I want from you (at this point in time.) Just shut the fuck up._

_I cannot stand your accent any more than your smell, and you don't even have the appeal of a sweet, tender flank to balance it out. With those curved, masculine muscles you've spent so many years toning. That rosy complexion spreading from flank to flank, I could even block out that god awful drawl when I watch those apples bounce._

_Hang on._

_Don't write that either, Spike._ _… YES, start over from the beginning! I don't care, just do it._

_Dearest Applejack,_

_Choke on a watermelon._

_Seriously, so long as it's fucking anything but apples. It's always 'apples, apples, apples'. You're a fucking nuisance. Not as much as the Pink Menace, I'll give you that. And your VOICE._

_Fucking TARTARUS, your voice! I am not even listening to you right NOW, and it STILL makes me grind my teeth in frustration!_ _You sound like the horrid inbred culmination of Pony Fife and Larry the Cable Pony!_

_And on top of that, you and Rainbow Dash are always at each other's throats. As in, every single goddamned day. All day._

_Every. Day._

_Just fuck and get it over with already. We both know you've got lots of experience with it, so it should be no problem for you._

_Besides, I swear, sometimes you and Rainbow 'Let's get smashed every Tuesday' Dash sound exactly the fucking same. It's creepy._ _In hindsight, she could secretly be a changeling. You should kill her._

_Shut the hell up, Spike._

_Seriously, go slaughter that bitch. Get her out of my mane for a few minutes. And while you're doing that, I'll go rut your hunk of a brother for you. Right there on the kitchen table, too. Your grandmother and I already put it to good use, though. I'm surprised the perverted bitch didn't have a heart attack, there and then. I damned near gave her one, though._ _-Note From Spike-_

_Applejack, I am so, so sorry about this. You would not believe how much of a mean drunk Twilight is. She's really gone off the deep end, and I think she wants more letters sent. Seriously, get somepony over here and get her some coffee and a cold shower, or… something._

_Also, I'm sorry to hear about your grandmother. You have my deepest condolences._

Applejack ever-so-slowly began inching away from the kitchen table.


	3. Chapter 3: Dearest Pink Menace

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Pinkie Pie darted out of bed.

For a moment, she felt a bit silly. Standing in the middle of a dark bedroom, waiting. At first, she considered simply going back to sleep; until it happened again.

Ear flop, double eye jerk, knee tingle, tail twitch left, ear flop.

"Wheeee!" Pinkie began bouncing around excitedly. "Mail time!"

Darting noisily through Sugarcube Corner and waking several inhabitants, Pinkie Pie stood patiently by the mailbox.

Only for a wisp of green flame to flicker overhead, dropping a rolled scroll into her outstretched hooves.

Barely able to contain her excitement, Pinkie ran back inside for light to read her letter. Grabbing a slice of fudge cake from the refrigerator and unrolling the letter cheerfully with one hoof, Pinkie took a bite and started to read.

_Dearest – actually, no. Pink Menace._ JUST Pink Menace. I fucking despise you. Eat a bag of dicks and die.

Slowly – very, very slowly, Pinkie Pie stopped chewing, sat down and began to read the letter again.

_You revolting, putrid sack of __insanity__. You make me want to vomit._ Actually, that could just be the booze talking. … Yes, I'm serious, Spike! Keep that bucket close by, I don't feel so good.

Where was I? Oh, right.

Dearest Pink Menace, I regret ever letting that dumb bitch Trixie put your mouth back on. And even if you didn't talk all the time, you'd still be completely fucking unbearable. You want to know why?

Because you're boring.

Yeah. Yeah, bitch. I said it.

You. Are fucking. BORING.

I cannot stand your company – if I can even call it that – because your constant droning about bullshit like cotton candy and parties is just that. Constant, motherfucking droning. No, Spike. You shut the fuck up, I'm talking to Pinkie. I mean, I'm talking to a letter. I mean, I'm talking to you, who's writing the letter, who's talking to Pinkie.

What I mean is, I'm talking to you, who is Spike, and in turn, you are writing a letter dictated by me, to Pinkie – I mean, the Pink Menace, who… fuck me, am I wasted.

Hey. Hey, Spike. You… you know what goes great with peanuts? Hammers.

Get it? Because… because peanuts often come with alcohol, because they're really salty. And… and I'm hammered. Get… get it?

… Shut the fuck up, Spike.

Start over.

Dearest Pinkie Pie,

Shit. Start over.

Dearest Pink Menace,

You disgusting, vile piece of shit.

Does Mrs. Cake have any idea what's been going on? Because everypony else in town sure as hell does. Even if you deny it, we all still know that you've been railing that ugly fuck Carrot for room and board. Or is his wife in on it, too?

You filthy whore. Yeah, you 'know' everypony, all right.

I can't BELIEVE you – you, of all ponies! The outrageous, horrifying GALL it takes, to not even bother inviting me!

No, Spike, you're not allowed at the orgies anyway. Shut the fuck up.

Hang on, Spike? Start over.

No, no, not the writing… thing. I mean, read it for me from the top. I can't remember what I was talking about. … Shit, what? No, you weren't supposed to write that! What are you, retarded? Do we need you delivering our MAIL now, Spike-tard?

… Oh, stop the goddamn blubbering!

You know what? Fuck it. Gimme that, I'll write it myself!

_Pinkie quietly tilted her head to the side, desperately trying to read the remainder of the letter. From the looks of it, somepony had desperately attempted to scribble on it while using their hooves._

_Never mind, just take the goddamn thing back._

Start over.

YES, again! How many times do we have to go over this?

Dearest Pink Menace,

Really. Will you PLEASE try to remember to take your fucking Ritalin? I am not afraid to hold you down and INJECT you with it, if I have to. I've gone and made special room in my basement, just for you. Well, that too, but that doesn't have to go in the letter, Spike. YES, I'm sure! God, just stop sniveling!

Where was I?

Oh, right.

Pinkie Pie – I mean, Pink Menace!

Fuck! You see? Do you see what you do to me? Even when you're not here! Shut the fuck up! At the very least, pull the stick out of your plot long enough to realize that nopony fucking likes you!

I mean it, Pinkie!

I mean, Pink Menace!

Nopony likes you. Maybe we would, if you could lay off the cocaine for, like, ten minutes. Coupling debilitating drugs with your attention deficit disorder isn't helping. As in, at all. And it makes your voice even more annoying.

God, every time you talk, I just want to jam forks in my eardrums!

It was funny for about thirty minutes, but now I just want to mangle you!

Shit, I'm doing it again.

Spike? Start over.

Dearest… Pinkie Pie.

Get in my basement.

Bring some whisky, some Tramadol, and some latex gloves. Oh, and some Band-Aids.

Seriously, bitch. We gon' get freaky. Like… like Vikings.

Vikings are plenty freaky, I didn't ask for your opinion, Spike!

And that's another thing! Nopony cares about your bullshit opinions, Pinkie! That thing with the parasprites was a fluke, plain and simple.

_And for fuck's sake, just stop with the 'cupcakes' thing. If I hear you say one - more - word. One! One word about cupcakes, and I swear to god, I will SHIV you. _

If anyone else had noticed, Pinkie seemed to have undergone a drastic transformation.

Her eyes had narrowed to dangerous slits, and as she carefully weighed the cleaver in one hoof, Pinkie's mane slowly began to deflate into a plain, flat state…

And then Pinkie Pie dropped her fudge.

**Author's Note:**

Cupcakes, so sweet and tasty...


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